June 28, 2008

It was now or never. My goal from that first day at age 18 in September of 1952 had always been to learn the trade of photography by assisting Richard Avedon and then go out on my own. Thirteen years later, with three years out for military service, I was still there and finding it difficult to say goodbye. Somehow, in all the excitement and wonderful experiences of working for the world's most renowned photographer, I kept putting off the inevitable.

But now I was 30 years old, rapidly closing in on 31. If I stayed longer I was in grave danger of becoming a "professional assistant" with no job security and nowhere to go if I ever found myself unemployed. Oh, the money was good and I was living pretty high on the hog — large apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan and the lifestyle of a guy on the way up. My job was not only exciting and immensely rewarding, but pleasant as well.

Another troublesome aspect was the prospect of eternally living in the shadow of a great genius. I knew that my own work would never be anywhere near as masterful as his, although good enough to get by with in the world of advertising.

I almost made the break in September of 1964, after returning from a three-week vacation in Japan. But at the last moment I chickened out because I didn't feel quite ready yet. This was good, as that last year with Avedon (September '64 through September '65) was by far the best I ever had. Now I had not only the knowledge but the contacts and confidence that made the transition comfortable.

Upon returning from a vacation in Yugoslavia at the beginning of September 1965 I made the announcement, and agreed to stay on for a short while until my replacement was ready. The break was a friendly one, with Avedon even helping by sending clients to me and my new business partner. Thank you, Dick.

June 25, 2008

Back in Olden Times — the 1950s — military uniforms were not nearly as macho or snazzy as they are today. With a draft, they didn't need to be. No camos, no black berets to lure potential enlistees. Just OD (olive drab) all over the place, except for summertime khaki. The dreary winter "Class A" uniform was the worst, a shapeless bag that made you look like a bellhop in a Soviet backwater town. That's me in the photo on the right, modeling this at Fort Slocum, NY, in 1957. The "A" patch on my left shoulder meant that I was in the First Army (New England and New York).

Another identifying emblem was the round brass thing worn on the left collar. During basic training this showed the image of an eagle; after advanced training it was replaced with a symbol of the particular branch of the army the soldier was assigned to, such as crossed rifles for infantry or a castle for engineers. Since our unit, the Army Security Agency, was so secretive, we just continued using the "unassigned" eagle (photo, left). Regardless of which unit you were in, you always wore a similar brass disk with the letters "U.S." on the right collar of any "Class A" uniform. All brass, naturally, had to be kept polished at all times. Good old Brasso™.

Once we got to Japan we had the "Fuji" patch (photo, right) sewn on the left shoulder. This only meant that we were stationed in Japan. Also while in Japan, us ASA types wore a security badge on a chain around the neck or clipped to a collar — but only while on post. On first arrival these were red, but as soon as all clearances were confirmed a green one with laminated photo, fingerprints, and some secret circuitry was issued. Later, at JCRC-J, we no longer used security badges since everyone knew everyone else. We also had name badges, such as mine from Camp Drake in 1958-59 (left).

The summer "Class A" uniform was much nicer and more comfortable. It consisted of a long-sleeve khaki shirt (sometimes worn with a tie) and khaki pants, worn with black dress shoes and either a hat or a cap while outdoors (or indoors while armed).

All through basic training we of course wore the utility (fatigue) uniform of dark olive drab (OD) shirt, bloused pants, combat boots, utility cap (or helmet), and a really sharp-looking field jacket (photo, right, of me at Fort Jackson, SC). I did not wear these during my advance training at the Information School, but often did for the first few months at the ASAPAC Personnel Processing Detachment in Camp Oji, Tokyo. After that, it was Class A's all the time. Except once. That was when I had to go out on the firing range to demonstrate my meager abilities at shooting the .45 pistol that I carried on off-post courier missions. The office staff responded with quips like "you going off to war?"

In 1958 the ugly Class A winter uniform was replaced with a much nicer one in a dark green shade, which remains in use today (I think). Each soldier had a choice of receiving one such uniform free, or of getting a "kit" for making one plus some cash to help pay the tailor. Since the kit had a better grade of wool I chose the latter as I had to wear the thing every workday from about September through April, or thereabouts. This was worn with a pinkish-tan dress shirt, black tie, black dress shoes, and a dark green cap. The photo on the left shows two of my co-workers at JCRC-J, North Camp Drake, Japan, in 1959. They are, from left, Sgt. Hicks and SP4 John Jubb.

Starting in 1957 the army introduced an optional Class A summer uniform, which could be worn in place of the regular khakis if desired. That is, if you could stand the laughter. Obviously inspired by the traditional Boy Scout uniform, it consisted of a very nice short-sleeve shirt with open collar, made of lightweight khaki, reverse-pleat shorts, anf khaki-colored knee socks. Remember, this was the 1950s, when grown men were not yet up to wearing shorts in public. The cool shirt, however, was much appreciated and soon the army relented and allowed its use with long khaki pants. That was the end of wearing shorts. The photo below shows some of the guys at JCRC-J making a fashion statement.

OF COURSE, whenever off duty we wore civilian clothes. Always.

Most of us had "civies" shipped over from home as the pickings at the PX were pretty awful. The Ship's Store at Yokosuka Naval Base, south of Yokohama, however, had some sharp duds. Japanese clothes made for the local market just did not fit us Westerners very well.

In fact, the army actively discouraged wearing uniforms off base in Japan as they gave the impression of a foreign "occupation."

There were some rules concerning civilian attire. They had to be clean and neat, and such items as blue jeans were not allowed. One guy I knew got around this restriction by dying his black. But on the whole we dressed about the same as we would have back home, both off-post and on-post while off duty.

June 17, 2008

All throughout his fifty-some-year career in photography Richard Avedon remained heavily dependent on his assistants and was nearly incapable of working alone except on the simplest of jobs. In fact, one of his major talents was the ability to choose just the right persons to assist him, and to motivate them into doing their best at all times. This was a real management skill — and above all, Avedon was a good businessman who set goals and saw to it that they were achieved. He was tough and demanding, but also very kind and generous to those who performed well.

I began working for him at the tender age of 18 as a junior assistant or apprentice in September of 1952 and rose to be second assistant by 1954. In late December 1956 I left the studio to begin my mandatory Army service (we had a draft then!), but rejoined him in late 1959. In early 1962 I became his studio manager, responsible for managing the other assistants as well as working on all sittings, doing the lighting, and making all of the finish prints. This lasted until September of 1965, when I left to form my own business.

WHAT KIND OF ASSISTANTS DID HE EMPLOY?

I don't know who his assistants were prior to 1952 (although I'd love to meet them!), but in the fall of '52 his staff consisted of those pictured above. Standing on the right is Avedon with his secretary, Polly Hatch. On the top left, peeking from behind the poster is studio manager George Thompson, peering from the bushes is Marty (last name I've forgotten), and at the very bottom, on the floor, is me. Missing from the photo is Laura Kanelous, his sales rep. Do not ask what prompted this photo.

When Avedon returned from the Paris Couture Collections in early September 1953, George was gone and replaced by the highly talented Frank Finocchio, who remained his studio manager until spring 1962. Frank was an ebullient, wine-loving Sicilian who sang Puccini while working in the darkroom. I learned an awful lot from him. He's the guy on the left of the photo (right), talking to model Suzy Parker, with Avedon in white shirt and tie on the right. This was in the CBS-TV studios in late '59. Marty also left, replaced by a guy named Lenny. Towards the end of 1956 Avedon took on a Japanese man named Hiro Wakabayashi, who later became a famous photographer in his own right. Initially he was to replace me as I was heading off to army basic training at the very beginning of 1957.

While I was away he began a practice of trying out would-be assistants from Europe during the Paris Couture Collections, which took place every year in July-August. From these he invited the best to come to New York and work for him. Among the first to arrive was Alan McWeeney from Ireland, who was as Irish as it's possible to be Irish. Others that followed included Jan Forstrom from Sweden (photo, left), Michael Geiger from Germany, and Gideon Lewin from Israel — who replaced me as studio manager when I left in late 1965.

During those years there were a great many assistants, most of whom lasted only a short time. The ones I remember most vividly include Jim Houghton (who became my business partner in 1965), Tadashiku Wakamatsu (who later became studio manager for the rival Bert Stern studio), Richard Kaperka (who came to us from the Irving Penn studio), David (last name forgotten but who always listened to Pacifica Radio and later became an organic farmer), Freddie Eberstadt (who later opened his own studio), Harris Radin, and others whose names escape me after all those years.

Also assisting, in a way, were those not employed by Avedon but whose creativity contributed so much to his success. One of these was the world-famous hair stylist Enrico Caruso, seen at the bottom of the above photo. The others in the photo are, from left, assistant Jim Houghton, me, and the art director for Clairol hair products, Eric Lunden. This was snapped by Avedon on location in Phoenix, Arizona.

One look at many of Avedon's photos, particularly beauty pictures, reveals just how important retouchers were to his work. When I first started with him in 1952 much of his photography was done in the 8"x10" format, on black & white film. These negatives were retouched right on the emulsion surface by a lady named Harriet Woolen, who had a small studio at 480 Lexington Avenue. Later, as he worked more with the Rolleiflex camera, it was the finish prints that were retouched. This was done by the Rembrandt of the Airbrush, Bob Bishop, who transformed many of Avedon's photographs into works of art.

Although they were not involved with photography, Avedon's studio staff at first included a secretary, Polly Hatch, who retired and was replaced around 1961 by Sue Mosel. As business improved he added a receptionist named Maggie (who later married the assistant Michael Geiger). The two ladies kept the place running smoothly. There was also an accountant whose name may have been Chick, but I'm not sure.

We must not overlook the contributions made by Marguerite Lamkin, who either arranged for personalities to happily sit for him, or provided victims for his searing lens, depending on how you look at it.

Finally, there were the art directors. These were the people who gave him assignments, provided inspiration, and helped guide the projects right up to press time. The most important of these was Alexey Brodovitch (1898-1971), who once served as an officer in the Russian Czar's Imperial Hussars and later fled to France after the Soviet Revolution. He became the art director of Harper's Bazaar in 1934 and in the mid-1940s taught graphics to Avedon at New York's New School for Social Research. Brodovitch remained the magazine's art director until 1958, and later taught graphics classes in Avedon's studio into the mid-1960s. His immediate successor was Henry Wolf, replaced in the early 60s by Marvin Israel. Around 1964 the position was taken by two talented ladies, Bea Feitler and Ruth Ansel. All five of these art directors were of enormous help to Avedon, and greatly influenced his work.

DUTIES OF AN ASSISTANT:

Assisting Richard Avedon required an amazingly wide range of abilities. A thorough knowledge of photographic technology, of course. A willingness to work long hours with little compensation coupled with a strong desire to please the boss. A willingness to perform needed tasks that might be "beneath you," such as making deliveries, running errands, or even mopping the floor. Always being cheerful, prompt, dependable, and polite. And always putting on a neat, professional appearance.

An assistant must, at times, be able to construct and/or paint sets, arrange lighting, and set up cameras and props. He or she must do minor mechanical and electrical repairs. And be able to reliably develop film and make rough prints.

Location photography calls for even more abilities. An especially important one was to be a good driver as Avedon himself hardly ever drove, for which the locals should be eternally grateful — he was about the world's worst driver. Then, the equipment, props, and merchandise had to be safely transported to the location, and the exposed film brought back without damage. Location work also meant fewer assistants on the job, often just one. That put a heavier burden of responsibility on those who did go.

The largest asset, and a very critical one, was the ability to anticipate his needs before he even knew he had them. If he suddenly switched to a different camera, that camera had better be loaded, set, and ready to go.

Those who did not measure up didn't last long. But those who did reaped the benefits of becoming highly prepared for the eventual goal of opening their own studio. The pay was pretty good, too, at least for the more experienced.

Shortly before leaving Avedon and going out on my own I wrote this article for the March-April 1966 issue of Photographic Product News, a trade journal. It discusses all aspects of choosing, hiring, and managing assistants. Although somewhat dated in this digital world, I still stand by its basic advice.

June 10, 2008

Is it dying in this digital age? The actual printing of books with ink on paper is approaching troubled times as economic forces cause untold havoc.

Traditionally, book publishing was mostly the province of wealthy gentlemen who ran the businesses almost as a hobby. Books were published because publishers thought they "deserved" to be, often despite there being little market for the results. Oh, they did publish best sellers, whose profits usually made up for losses on the majority of titles.

I came into the last remnants of this attitude with the publication of my first book, Daytrips from London, in 1983 by Hastings House Publishers of New York. Walter Frese was the president of this venerable firm, which he founded in 1936 as an adjunct to his grandfather's much older Architectural Book Publishing Company. The offices on East 40th Street, just down from the main branch of the New York Public Library, were somewhat old-fashioned, with lots wood panelling and leather chairs. Walter Frese was the very image of a gentleman publisher, kindly but a stickler for perfect grammar. When we had lunch together, it was always at such private haunts as the Century Club, the Union Club, or the Princeton Club.

That world has completely changed.

First, over the past few decades economic reality has reared its ugly head. Many old-time publishing houses either went bankrupt or were bought out by real businesses. These giants are owned by stockholders whose main goal is to make money. One of the central reasons for publishing failures was the consolidation of bookstores into huge chains such as Borders and Barnes & Noble, with their immense efficiency and need for fast turnover and high profit margins.

This, combined with the old industry practice of allowing bookstores to return any unsold copies for full credit, resulted in return rates that were once well below 10% to skyrocket to perhaps over 50%. In effect, this means that the bookstore chains get free inventory — since what they sell they eventually pay for (at huge discounts) — and what they don't sell they return for full credit. This is a sweet deal for the chain stores. Smaller stores have difficulty keeping track of each book, so as to know just when to return it within the allowed time frame. Also, sending back just a few books instead of hundreds may not be cost effective. Returned books are usually not worth the paper they are printed on. The publisher has to take these losses in stride, and often passes them on to the authors.

THE FUTURE OF BOOK PUBLISHING:

Books expected to be "best sellers," with certain sales in the tens or hundreds of thousands, will continue to be published in the conventional manner, usually by offset printing. This is only practical when printing thousands of copies of the same book at the same time. Often, the offset printing is done overseas, especially in China where costs are lower.

For those whose sales figures are not so certain, however, printing will be done by the POD (print-on-demand) process so there is little if any inventory loss. Here's what I wrote about it nearly two years ago (Link). Currently, all of my newer titles are printed this way. Many of the books listed on Amazon.com's site as being "in stock" actually exist only as digital files. When someone orders a copy, it is printed the same day by Amazon's POD facility, Booksurge, and sent immediately to the customer. The quality of this printing equals that of conventional offset. The only downside to POD is that it costs more per copy, although this is made up for by the lack of inventory loss.

An interesting development along this line is the new Espresso Book Machine that can be placed in bookstores (or anywhere) and which will print out and bind copies as they are ordered, one at a time, in just minutes. The image on the left is of the first prototype working model, used to develop the concept. A sleek, streamlined version of this — suitable for retail environments or libraries — is to be available in 2009. With it, the customer enters the order, swipes their credit card, and about 7 minutes later the bound book appears. The machine can print several different books at the same time, depending on the number of laser printers attached to it. Royalties are automatically paid to the author.

Another interesting development is Amazon's Kindle, a small hand-held screen with a paper-like surface upon which words and images appear through the magic of electronic ink. Books are downloaded almost instantly through a nation-wide cell phone network, and retained in memory. However, the present version only displays in black & white, reception for downloads can be spotty in some parts of the country, and it cannot download over the cell phone network outside of the United States. The last two "problems" can be overcome by downloading over the internet anywhere in the world at any time.

One nice feature is the adjustable font size, a bonanza for those with eyesight problems. This was made possible by the use of a proprietary imaging file format instead of the common PDF format used by the somewhat similar SONY machine.

Of course, if the device is lost, stolen, or severely damaged all of the books stored on it are gone forever.

SELF-PUBLISHING:

Perhaps the most significant development of all is the resurgence of self-publishing, in which the author becomes the publisher. This was once very common, particularly in the 19th century. Many of the world's most renowned authors started out this way. True self-publishing is not to be confused with so-called "vanity" presses, which fleece would-be authors by charging them high prices to print and bind books without any editorial or design help and certainly without any sales assistance. A more respectable program for self-publishing is offered by "subsidy" publishers. These are legitimate publishers that will take on worthwhile books for which there is an uncertain market on the condition that the author cover a large share of the expenses.

The purest form of self-publishing is when the author acts as publisher and takes on (or contracts out) the work of typesetting, page layouts, illustrations, indexing, cover design, publicity, sales, shipping, and all of the other aspects of book publishing. In the past this was an extremely difficult task, but is now much easier thanks to new technology and internet sales. In theory, anyone with a decent computer, an internet connection, and programs for graphics and publishing can do it.I wrote a piece about this on this blog some two years ago; click here to read it. Currently the programs I use are Word, CorelDraw, PhotoShop Elements, and Serif PagePlusXP. The latter outputs the entire book as one giant PDF file, which is then sent to the POD or offset printer as a CD or DVD or online via FTP (File Transfer Protocol).

Of course, writing and printing a book is one thing; selling it is another. Fortunately, I do have a publisher who takes care of that little detail, but if I didn't I'd arrange to sell through Amazon.com (and possibly eBay), then set up a blog or website to lead potential customers right to it.

GOOGLE BOOKS:

Thousands of books are now available online for free reading on Google Books, including all of my newer ones. Just enter the title, click, and scroll down through the pages. In theory you could probably print these out, but it might cost more in ink and paper than it's worth, and the quality of the page images isn't all that hot. Still, it's a great way to preview a book before purchasing — which is just a mouse click away.